


Riding the Dragon

by BadgerBasher



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Beastiality, I'm Sorry, M/M, Other, Page Six, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 23:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17796881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadgerBasher/pseuds/BadgerBasher
Summary: The Champion is known for his desire to ride a dragon. The Knight-Captain has recently become the Knight-Dragonslayer. Are these facts perhaps related? The Kirkwall Gazette investigates!





	Riding the Dragon

As the readers of this fine Gazette are sure to have heard, a dragon was recently slain in the Bone Pit mine by none other than the Knight-Dragonslayer and his erstwhile companions. However, we at the Gazette have heard otherwise – that this fine dragon was first slain by none other than the Champion of Kirkwall himself, armed only with the sword given him the Maker Himself (we at the Gazette wonder if perhaps the ending of this dragon’s life was an act of vengeance by the Knight-Dragonslayer, but we digress). 

Our doughty correspondent, being an intrepid soul of an exploratory nature, was busily engaged in mapping the serpentine tunnels of those ancient mines when came to his ears an inexplicable noise. Was it of ecstasy? Or perhaps of pain? Our correspondent hurried his steps, eager to bring aid to any soul in need of stout sword (or perhaps stout trouser-dagger), when, rounding a corner, he came across an unexpected though not unwelcome sight. 

Lo! Within clear earshot and clearer eyeshot stood the rakish Champion, stripped to well-fitted trousers and glistening with perspiration, stretching most seductively upwards, hands trembling worshipfully upon the great scaled chest of nothing other than the aforementioned dragon! 

As our correspondent watched, open-mouthed (and perhaps, dare we suggest, open-trousered?), it appeared as though the massive beast shivered lustfully, bringing a glinting claw to trace the well-muscled chest of its human admirer. The Champion, oiled locks askew, gave voice to his manful desires, moaning wantonly and pleading loudly with the winged beast to make free of his personal charms and assets. It appeared to our correspondent that perhaps Lord Amell’s requests were not to go unheeded, for as his leather-clad hips writhed desperately against the dragon’s meaty foreleg in apparent punctuation of his cries, a mighty sword became visible between the creature’s hind legs, dripping with desire. The mighty dragon’s instrument appeared strange to our correspondent, being as wide around as a healthy man’s arm and perhaps as much as a foot in length, purplish in colour and fearfully ridged. The Champion, clearly driven to greater heights of excitement by this event, abandoned his post at the creature’s chest and began to worship this yard of meat with his luscious mouth, obscenely stretching his lips over the outsized organ. The lusty lizard appeared to approve of Lord Amell’s efforts, emitting a desirous rumble, and beginning to thrust delicately into the damp orifice just barely containing the bulbous head of its monstrous meatstick. 

Our correspondent, hardly daring to breathe, and aware of his duty to you, the Gazette reader (and, we suspect, his own Maker’s Dagger), edged closer to the exotic duo, the better to view the erotic activities of this exotic pair. No sooner had our reporter gained a better seat than the libertine dragon thrust the Champion from his dragonhood with one sharpened foreclaw, flipping the wanton rogue to display more prominently his most plunderable of assets. Quickly, and with no further ado, the lascivious lizard stretched out its enormous wings, and with a great screech of triumph, rent the unblushing Champion’s sinful trousers from his body. The Champion, parting his nether cheeks with one shaking hand, could be heard loudly exhorting his lizardlike lover to yet greater efforts, his other hand busily unsheathing his sword from the remnants of his clothing.   
It seemed to our correspondent that the dragon became further aroused by Lord Amell’s abandoned ways, and, dwarfing his slim body with its own massive musculature, brought his greatsword to bear. 

The Champion’s howls of delight echoed around the cavernous chamber as the dragon addressed its turgid sword to its new, tight sheath. Pinned beneath the creature, the only part of the human visible to our correspondent was the Champion’s quivering hole, stretched tight around the purple hot beef injection, twitching with unbridled passion as the massive knobhead pierced its shapely surrounds. When came the first ridge, the Champion’s straining sheath appeared at first to be overwhelmed by the size of the dragon’s knob – indeed, the Champion’s wails of pleasure became a mite tinged with those of pain until it seemed his fire-breathing lover brought a clawed forefoot to his dagger and gently frigged the nobleman, at which the clenching hole relaxed and the purple pego’s first ridge disappeared into the Champion’s luscious bottom. The dissolute dragon gave forth a great spout of fire at this success, and seemed to our inspired correspondent to lose some control, all but ramming his humungous appendage home as the Champion bellowed as though stabbed with a less pleasurable sword. Again, the dragon handled the Champion’s Imperial breakfast with a gentle claw, and soon the lusty rake could be heard by our man to beg incoherently for the firey beast’s love-noodle. 

Grasping Lord Amell around the waist, the giant creature reared up, causing our valient correspondent to lose sight of the smaller of the couple briefly. However, being a man of derring-do, our man one again inched across to a better view point (we suspect he may have been hampered by a protrusion in the trouserly area) until it became apparent that the Champion’s lover was, rather than thrusting into the grasping hole, working the Champion up and down the monstrous meatpole. The Champion, head thrown back and dusky nipples taut with delight and desire, had taken himself in hand and was valiantly working himself to crisis. Squalling for his dragony companion’s beef whistle, the debauched nobleman frigged himself wildly until, convulsing, he emitted such an effusion of spendings as to land several droplets upon his dishevelled hair. Seeing this proof of its talents, the dragon gave an unholy shriek and, with a burst of fire, appeared to unload into the Champion’s shapely hindquarters. This epic river of seed seemed to be too much for even Lord Amell’s legendary capabilities, several streams of spunk leaking from the Champion’s abused hole to drip onto the cavern floor below. 

At this point in the proceedings, our brave (or depraved) correspondent concluded that the Champion and the dragon were soon to regain their awareness of their surroundings. Unwilling to be noticed by either of these warriors, our correspondent left the cave (and likely a small puddle of his own) and made haste to inform the Gazette of this momentous occasion. 

We at the Gazette thank our correspondent, and offer the Knight-Dragonslayer our best wishes, and hope that his revenge brought satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> Badgermum: Written anything good lately?   
> Badger: Nope.


End file.
